A Patch of Blue
by Opalsmith
Summary: Sharon is fearful for the life of her unborn child. She is a prisoner isolated in the bare cell that is all that is left of her world. Yet somehow she must escape her despair in order to go on.


Title: A Patch of Blue

Author: Opal

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Time frame for story: Season 2 – sometime between Epiphanies (after the attempt to abort Sharon's child) and Sacrifice.

Author's notes: Originally written for BSG Kindreds first annual Joyathon. Thanks to my lovely husband for being a very patient beta.

* * *

Sharon plants herself in front of the cell window that faces the observation room. There will be someone watching in the room hidden behind the glass but Sharon does not care. She wants them to know she has not given up. She stands tall and pulling back her jacket reveals her swollen belly which she caresses lovingly, enjoying the echo of her child's movements to her touch.

Sharon's body is nourishing and protecting her precious child and that makes her feel proud and strong. Nothing, not even her imprisonment can disturb her incredible sense of fulfilment. All of this no longer matters because soon her life will begin…

* * *

Two days earlier

_After the attempt to abort her child, Sharon had trouble sleeping and was plagued by terrible nightmares. The aftermath of the violence used against her, being forcibly sedated and strapped down on a trolley left her deeply traumatised. Sleep was no escape from the constant fear that at any moment her daughter's life could be threatened. Instead sleep brought Sharon terrible visions of her child born a monster, body malformed, head misshapen and hideous. She would wake terrified in the early hours when it was dark and quiet. Then her mind played tricks by conjuring up tormentors hidden in the shadows closing in on her… _

"Young lady, what you are describing is normal for someone in your condition." Doctor Cottle snapped as he concentrated on inserting a needle in Sharon's arm to draw a blood sample.

"But this isn't a _normal_ pregnancy, is it?" Sharon retorted, glaring at Cottle who sat opposite her as she perched on the bed in her cell.

Cottle shot her a look of undisguised irritation as he withdrew the needle and then pressed a wad of cotton wool firmly down on the needle entry point. To demonstrate just how neurotic he thought she was being he spoke slowly, emphasising every word, "Yes, it's not a _normal_ pregnancy but the dreams are only a symptom of anxiety. In other words, it's all in your mind. Your child is developing as expected and is healthy. _Listen_, you've got to stop this and be more positive. How _you_ feel does affect the baby."

Sharon was infuriated by his patronising attitude; he had no idea what she was going through, "Be positive! I'm the _enemy_, a prisoner surrounded by people who want to harm my child. Convince Admiral Adama to let Helo get me away from here!"

"You know that's not going to happen and you are going to have to find a way to deal with that." Cottle stopped short, a look of intense concentration on his face as he tried to remember something important locked away in his mind. Then admitting defeat he mused out loud, "Now who was that guy, the famous son of Troy, the radical, Paul Rice…?"

"You mean Paul Reece, the freedom fighter and poet who lived more than a century ago?" Sharon gave out a hard bitter laugh as she added, "he spent seven years in solitary confinement, that's supposed to make me feel better?!"

"How do you know about him?" Cottle enquired surprised to find a Cylon so clued up about one Aerelon dissenter.

Sharon could tell that for once Cottle seemed genuinely interested, "The best way to learn what motivates your enemy is to study their history. But apart from that Boomer loved his poetry. She always carried a copy of "A Patch of Blue" with her." Then as an afterthought, her voice tinged with sadness, "The book should be among her personal effects."

"Well if I _remember_ right, he refused to be broken by what happened and found a way to survive. The poem he's famous for, the one you mentioned… he has given up on life then he imagines what the future could hold for him… and it doesn't drive him crazy…instead it makes him stronger…"

Transfixed by fear Cottle watched Sharon become scarily still and quiet as if she'd just flicked a switch. He could hardly breathe as his mind sent out adrenalin infused warning signals. Without taking his eyes from the deadly machine in front of him, he started to calculate how quickly he could reach the door and safety.

The first thing Sharon saw when she burst back to life was the startled shock in Cottle's face as through Boomer's eyes she started to recite word for word the final verse of the poem, her voice cracking with emotion as she reached the last line.

As Cottle's fear subsided, he realised just how much it moved him to hear words of hope spoken by someone who was now in the same place as that poet. And when Sharon gifted him a brief smile of thanks Cottle glimpsed the ghost of someone he once thought he knew, unnerving him so much he had to turn away.

As he readied himself to leave, Cottle looked over at her and said firmly, "See, you _do_ have something to look forward to."

* * *

The next morning…

"Morning, sleepy head," Helo said smiling at Sharon, his voice distorted by the wires making him sound like he was far away not just on the other side of the glass. "You look better this morning, more rested."

Sharon returned his smile, incredibly glad in her heart to see him. "I know you worry about me, but I'm okay, really okay."

Helo pushed his hand into the metal mesh covering his side of the glass as if his desperate need to touch Sharon would be enough to break through the barrier between them. "I hate this, what I brought you to!"

"Helo, I know once our child is born, they'll have to let us be together. That's what keeps me going, the promise of our future. "

Helo really wanted to believe that it could be that simple. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because when they see our daughter isn't a threat, they'll have to accept that we are a family!"

Helo looked at her in wonder, "You're the strong one…"

Sharon laughed and joined her hand to his through the glass and wire, "No, I've just never felt so alive. Every breath I take is precious because our child is growing within me."

They gazed at each other, then Sharon smiled and added, "And of course I have you. There's something I'd like you to read, it will help you understand…"

* * *

Helo stood at the entrance to Admiral Adama's quarters debating the wisdom of interrupting him for such a trivial reason. He had just convinced himself to forget the whole idea when the Admiral looked up from his work and seeing Helo beckoned him to come forward.

Adama looked at Helo who seemed nervous about being there and Adama decided this could only be to do with Sharon. He wearily removed his reading glasses and squeezed the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb to relieve some of his tension. "You wanted to see me?"

Helo decided he would just have to find another way to get this book, "Nothing important, sorry to bother you Sir."

It was obvious to Adama that whatever Helo said, it _was_ very important. Helo was first and foremost a member of his crew which meant he was family. Now more than ever Adama craved the connections that made him feel life had purpose beyond the brutal fight for survival. "Tell me what you want, that's an order!"

Now he was backed into a corner Helo was forced into his request, "Do you have a book called, A Patch of Blue?"

Adama was shocked although he knew he should have expected this. The Sharon incarcerated on Galactica also carried the memories of the one now lost to him. And the book was a remembrance of the young woman who he'd once counted as a member of his family.

Adama went and got the book with the faded blue cover, holding it against his chest as the sorrow welled up in him. He could hardly trust himself to speak it was so difficult for him to part with it. Under duress Adama thrust the book at Helo with the words, "Take it!"

* * *

The young man was taken aback at the Admiral's brusqueness and tried to argue that he only wanted to borrow it. But Adama dismissed him with the lie that he wasn't interested in poetry.

Now Adama was back at his desk though his thoughts were far away from the stack of work in front of him. He opened a desk drawer and took out a slim volume which when placed on the desktop fell open at a well used page.

Adama read and this time his eyes did not blur up…

A Patch of Blue by Paul Reece of Aerelon,

Colonial Prisoner number 64749448

This was a cold and desolate place that held me close. A prisoner  
Weighed down by a sentence, accused of the worst betrayal;  
By family, by friends, by the place that made me what I am.  
My precious jewel I sought to protect: my home robbed from me.  
I crouched down shrunken and small, enclosed and forgotten,  
In the grey stone box that was all that was left of _my_ world.

Through the high crisscrossed window, light and shadows played  
Dancing above me on the ceiling, and rippling part down the wall,  
Tormenting me with proof that on the other side lives still entwined!  
At first I tried to shut out their noise; it was agony to stand still,  
While false allies I trusted, ignored the space I used to fill, or worse  
Claimed my place at the table, memory of me smothered in their hearts.

Then with time it became sport to watch the shades of scudding grey,  
Mesmerised by their monotonous journey; they dulled my pain!  
Accustomed to the monochrome, my eyes no longer ached for colour.  
I became an automaton, going through the motions of life,  
For without any purpose, my punishment was to inhale then exhale,  
Inhale then exhale; a soldier no longer, I surrendered the right to fight.

And how could I ever wake from my stupor, a soul empty of hope?  
But one day I was roused from my despair with swift surprise,  
A different shadow perched up high, and looked down into my cell;  
And in its sharp mouth it carried a blade of burnished gold, a building block.  
Perhaps surprised to see that a being existed therein, it dropped its load,  
And as it swirled lazily downwards it shed glistening seeds.

I collected every last fragment of this link in a chain of existence,  
Holding it to me, looking, touching the crisp stems, my sight restored!  
Cursing at my weakness, I welcomed and accepted the pain of life.  
Allowing my mind to wander down the paths that led to my heart,  
Seeing again the one I love, listening to her voice in the wind song;  
And as I remembered; I came slowly back to stand straight and tall.

Then I was gifted a patch of blue, through the frame of hard steel,  
And instead of diving into the madness of others before me;  
Who in trying to fly toward it, left their frantic marks on sheer rock,  
I hung my heart's desires on the wispy tails sailing on the brilliant hue.  
Letting them escape and soar free, growing stronger on the currents  
And in return I saw my future life reflected in that scrap of cobalt…

Once Adama finished reading he sat back allowing his thoughts to go towards the hope that one day they could stop running and start living again.

_

* * *

__A simple white kite decorated with a painted yellow bird ducks and dives through the blue. She watches giggling as it dances, two tails of red ribbons tumbling behind. Her eyes follow the taut lines that hold it to the ground and to her father. He turns from his work and smiles over to her while still moving in time with his captive bird. His loving smile hits the mark square in her heart. Her mother's voice urges her to go to her father. He nods his head in encouragement and as she approaches the kite swoops over her in a low sweeping arc, the ends of the tails kissing the top of her head. She is laughing out loud now, skipping across the grass as the kite rises straight up high like an arrow heading for the sun. She ducks down under her father's arm to stand in front of him, facing the kite. He tells her to put her hands in the space he makes for her on the handle bar between two winders. Then as one they move with the kite pulling and releasing as it answers the call of the swirling currents. Then her mother joins the dance, her kite a brilliant red bird with yellow tails. And the kites turn pirouettes together their tails whipping arcs through the sky. _

"_Are you ready to fly solo?" Her father asks. The lure to control the trembling bird is strong in her. She nods her head and digs her feet into the soft grassy earth. Her father eases first one hand then the other slowly away from the bar. At once the bird sensing inexperience throws its self into a steep dive tumbling out of the sky. She inhales deeply then slowly breathes out controlling her fear and willing the sky to provide a pillow of air on which to ride her wild creature. The kite hesitates then responds, levelling off and skimming above the earth before rising once more. She grows in confidence as her mother standing just within sight guides her to the best and strongest rivers of wind. Then she spies her father's kite, a blue bird with white tails to the other side of her. Three kites rising and falling, drawing synchronised circles just above the gentle green near their home. The noise of the material fluttering and flapping as the kites first fly fast with the wind then push against it is beautiful to her ears. Her arms ache from the unaccustomed effort but the elation of standing with her parents makes her hope this moment will never end…_

A brilliant white light invades her mind shattering the scene and brutally propelling Sharon from her dream. She opens her eyes and looks into the harsh ceiling lights that burst into life every morning at 0600 hours to signal the start of another day of captivity. Sharon closes her eyes again and lifting up her arms remembers the sensation of working the kite although what was incredibly vivid and real is now just an ethereal sensation. She rolls over on to her side as she feels her daughter move to wakefulness inside her. Then she snuggles her head back down into the pillow and enjoys once more the happiness another Sharon felt when thinking of her childhood.


End file.
